


The Yom Kippur Caper

by srsly_yes



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srsly_yes/pseuds/srsly_yes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one day of the year when House pays for Wilson’s food. Story takes place in 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Yom Kippur Caper

**Author's Note:**

> **Subtitle:** J.E.W. not a Jew  
> **Disclaimer:** Just playing with my House and Wilson dolls.  
> **A/N:** Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/wilson_fest/profile)[**wilson_fest**](http://community.livejournal.com/wilson_fest/), prompt: 23. Wilson has a secret - he isn't Jewish after all. It was all a misunderstanding that he can't get out of anymore.

.

Sleeping late was definitely Wilson’s way of demonstrating passive-aggressive behavior. House had no doubts because today was Yom Kippur, and just like the years that had gone before, he had no intention of accepting or respecting it. With the skill of a bombardier, he stood over the sleeping form of his friend, dropped Wilson’s sunglasses onto the side of the mussed up head, and declared, “L’shana tova.”

The slight reflexive jerk and half-hearted swipe at the glasses were very unsatisfying, so House picked the frames up again, and tried the maneuver from a more loftier height, with his arm raised above his head, and let go….

A groggy, “Wha…?” turned into a sharp, “House!” as soon as Wilson opened his eyes.

“Time to get up, Jew Boy, and go to shul where you can be absolved of your trespasses and pray for the good health of all your dying patients.”

“You mean pray for _patience,_ don’t you?” Wilson stared at him to make his point perfectly clear, while he propped himself into a sitting position and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Besides, you know I don’t go to…Temple.” He squinted at the clock near his bed and announced the time with a mix of wonderment and confusion. “It’s 7 AM. Why are you dressed? Are you going into work… early?”

“I’m not. This is Saturday—Shabbos and Yom Kippur, the double-header of holy holidays. Out of respect for your adopted religion, I’ve chosen a perfect place to pay up on our annual bet, but instead of lunch, this year it’s breakfast.”

“We can’t go to Mickey’s.” Wilson warned. "I can't be seen by anybody that knows me. I'm supposed to be fasting for the holiday."

House pulled out a scrap of paper from his pocket and let it flutter onto the blanket. “Of course not. God forbid anybody finds out you're not an observant Jew, or any kind of Jew at all." House mocked. "I found a restaurant that fits your prissy requirement about not eating in the state of New Jersey on the Day of Atonement. Here’s driving directions, but we gotta get going because the place fills up fast on the weekend.”

“I'm not forgetting you got me into this mess in the first place, House.” Wilson looked over the slip, and nodded his approval. “It’s in Philadelphia. Have we been there before? What’s the name?”

House wasn’t giving any more information away. He turned and walked out the door as he said, “The faster you get ready, the faster you’ll find out.”

* * *

 

With sunglasses firmly in place, Wilson displayed little enthusiasm for cruising along the highway and eventually crawling among the one-way streets of Philadelphia. He repeatedly checked the instructions on the paper as he guided his car through congested traffic. House received the payoff he was waiting for when he saw the corner of Wilson’s mouth twitch as he peered at the one-story brick building and read the sign aloud:

“_Morning Glory_. Are you the owner?”

“No, but I’m a good Googler. I can give you a lesson whenever you want.” House mugged at Wilson to provoke a reaction.

A grimace passed over Wilson’s features as he turned into a nearby parking lot. “Thanks for the offer, but that's not necessary.”

* * *

 

Arriving later than House had hoped, they had to wait outside in the muggy heat for twenty minutes before they were shoehorned into a table in the cramped diner.

House watched Wilson furtively scan the crowd for any people who might recognize him before slightly lowering his guard and perusing the menu. House shunned the shiny, hermetically sealed list of breakfast items, and checked out the neighboring tables heaped with fragrant food.

A gray-haired waitress sporting an ample waist sailed over. House gathered by her badge she went by the name, “Honey,” but the bees must have fled the hive well over a decade ago.

“What’ll you have?”

House pointed to the couple on his right who were sharing a colorful wedge of cooked egg bubbling with cheese. “I’ll have the frittata—heavy on the tatas. Orange juice and coffee.”

Wilson briefly looked at him over the menu. House was glad the shades were in place, because he was sure the lenses were saving him from evil death rays.

The waitress simply nodded and wrote down the order. Apparently, she heard it all before or wanted to preserve the size of her tip. She turned to Wilson, “Sir?”

“Coffee and the French toast.”

“—With a side of treyf.” House added.

“Excuse me, sir?” The waitress asked.

A quiet but distinctively threatening hiss projected from the opposite side of the table, “House.”

“Bacon. My friend is too shy to order it himself because I’m picking up the tab.”

The woman simply nodded and beat a hasty retreat.

“And there you go again. Why can’t you stop with the Yiddish, already?” Wilson spoke in a hushed voice so the occupants at the other tables couldn’t overhear him.

“_Stop with the Yiddish, already?_ Do you hear yourself? You sound like a Jewish grandmother. Admit it, You were born to be a Jew, Wilson. I bet when you were in your mother's birth canal you were worried about causing her any discomfort.”

“Whether I did or not is moot, because my parents are Methodist.”

“Don’t blame me about being spawned from Christians who couldn't be bothered checking what the initials of James Evan Wilson spelled on your birth certificate, or that you can't ignore that amorous dick of yours. I was trying to help my recently divorced and new best friend score with the beautiful resident he was pining over.” House leaned against the curved chair back. He just launched the opening salvo in their annual Yom Kippur war, and curious if Wilson would stake out new land along the Gaza.

“And have fun at my expense.” Wilson began to wag his finger, but put his hand down and tapped his fingertips against the chrome-trimmed red tabletop as the waitress appeared with orange juice and filled their cups with coffee. When she left, the finger resumed dog-paddling in the air. “I told you in confidence that I liked her, but she was brought up within a strictly orthodox family. I never stood a chance.”

“Hence our bet that I could set you up with the sultry Jewess with a disease for a name, Rickets Rosenblatt.”

“By lying and telling _Rikvah_ that I was Jewish?” Wilson shook his head in disbelief.

“I never said you were Jewish.”

“No, you implied it. Told her that my fictional 'Uncle Hiram' who went by the original family name of Weiss, was a past president of an upstate New York AMA chapter.”

“And she fell for it.”

“No kidding. You couldn’t find out first that she was already engaged before you put your little scheme into action?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I knew I couldn’t get to first base with—“

Wilson cut off the discussion as plates of steaming food arrived. House immediately stole a rasher of bacon from the stockpile on Wilson’s plate, but admitted to himself, it never tasted quite as good when he was paying. Not that it stopped him from hooking his fork into a thick slice of French toast from the humongous powdered sugar castle on Wilson’s plate. He waited and watched Wilson turn the citadel into rubble before continuing. “You didn’t give me all the facts. You should have warned me that her uncle worked in the hospital.”

“I had no idea she was related to the head of oncology.” Wilson answered, his voice soft, but tinged with a honed edge. Did you have to choose a name of a noted JAMA contributor?”

“The makings of a good lie are in the details.”

“You could have spared me the realistic example,” Wilson said.

“Didn't win you the girl, but brought you to the attention of the department head.” House gulped down some juice, savoring the pulp and the tart tang. So far, they weren’t breaking new ground, but he always loved the upcoming part.

“Yeah, nothing like being invited last minute to a Passover seder. Had to scramble and learn all about it in two days.”

“I helped you, didn’t I? You should be grateful that while my dad was stationed at Quantico, our next door neighbor was a Jewish empty nester who missed her kinder, and not a crazy cat lady like Eleanor Abernathy.”

Wilson just stared, his mouth slightly open, his empty fork drawing little circles in the air. When he absorbed the remark, he responded. “You haven't changed. Even now, even when no one is around, you insist on making Jewish jokes. I invite you for Christmas dinner, you say Hanukkah. I wear a funny hat—“

“—Who could resist saying, moose on a Jew? Come on, Jimmy. You built your own ghetto when you didn’t come clean with the Cancer King and continued the charade with Bonnie.”

Impulsively lifting his palms to his eyes, Wilson hands struck the dark glass, tilting the frames. He quickly settled the bridge on his nose and the earpiece behind his right ear, and nervously glanced around the room. “Sure, it was an opportunity to get in good with Dr. Fishbein, and Bonnie had this thing about Jewish men making great husbands." Wilson shook his head. "Before I knew it, one lie led to another. On top of that, I-I didn’t want to attempt explaining to anyone how you were trying to help me. Bad enough I'd look like an idiot, but you wouldn't look good either.”

This was new information. House filed it away in his mental scrapbook about Wilson under, _First time Wilson protected me._

Wilson finished his little speech with a resigned sigh and wiped his mouth on his napkin. He picked up the waiting check on the table and pulled out his wallet. “Are you finished?”

Today was full of surprises. House asked, “You're going to pay?”

“I finally get it. You were not being an ass as much as a Talmudic ass—helping me in your own convoluted way. After all these years, I’m calling off the bet. Why should this day be any different from all other days?” Wilson said with a wink. He playfully added, “L’shana tova, House.”

House stood up. He supposed now was not the time to tell Wilson that he knew all along that Rikvah was engaged, and her uncle was on staff. “L’_Sha Na Na_ tova, Wilson.”

 

_~fin~_

* * *

Here's a picture of the real _Morning Glory Diner_ in Philadelphia:  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/srsly_yes/pic/0000p4wg/)

 

* * *

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/srsly_yes/pic/0000qbyt/)  
My thanks to [](http://lieueitak.livejournal.com/profile)[**lieueitak**](http://lieueitak.livejournal.com/) for creating this lovely [](http://community.livejournal.com/wilson_fest/profile)[**wilson_fest**](http://community.livejournal.com/wilson_fest/) banner.

 

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